No More
by Purgurl
Summary: Martin finds out. He doesnt want to feel the pain anymore. Character death. MS JS.


**Disclaimer: I don't own anything I'm just borrowing. Il give 'em back, I promise.**

**Pairings: M/S. J/S**

**Spoilers: Season four**

**Warnings: Character death. Some content not suitable for younger readers. Lots of angst.**

A/N: This is my first fan fict. Surprisingly, this fict focuses on Martin, not one of my favourite characters, but the mind works in mysterious ways and all that malarkey. I haven't got a beta so I'm sorry for any mistakes but I tried my best. Well I hope you enjoy and if you have time a review would be great .

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He was working late that night, despite finding the body of the missing person, the missing child, earlier that afternoon. He had wanted to shift some of the mountain of paperwork that had accumulated. The cases involving children always affected the team badly. Perhaps more than any other cases. This case in particular. The young girl had been abducted by her uncle, who had repeatedly abused her. After cases like this, were the times that Martin found it harder to control his need for his old friends, the drugs, the one thing that could numb it all, let him float away into oblivion. He didn't want to return to the empty shell that he lived in. The warmth had left when she did. The memories that he was sure would forever, be imprinted upon the walls there, had slowly but surely faded away, just like his happiness.

He was startled out of his thoughts of self pity by a sharp rustling noise behind him. He snapped back to reality and caught a glimpse of a radiant blonde head bobbing underneath her desk to retrieve what she had dropped. If he was being truthful he wasn't surprised by her presence yet his heart started to beat faster the moment that he saw her. She quickly swung back up to eye level and caught his eye. She gave him a soft, sympathetic smile.

'Damn,' he thought 'even she is handling me with kiddie gloves!'

He couldn't bear to think that everyone else around him was thinking that he was an emotional train wreck, but now she did too.

She began to raise gracefully from her seat and began to walk towards him, taking her time. She looked as tired as he did, though no less radiant than usual.

'Hey Marty, you ok?' His heart flipped when she used her nickname for him.

'Why did I let her go? I was so messed up after my grandfather died, I didn't know what I was doing,' he though inwardly to himself. Of course she never knew about his grandfather's death. She noticed the glazed look upon his face. She stared deeply into his eyes, desperately searching for something, anything, to give away what he was thinking. Martin finally realised that she was still standing beside him, waiting for a reaction, a response. He tried to open his mouth to reassure her that he was fine. His mouth was dry and the only words he could muster were a short and hoarse, 'Fine thanks.' Samantha once again penetrated his eyes with her own. 'You don't look fine Martin.' The nickname was left out that time. She was serious, she meant business. Yet her voice held a recognisable concern for him. 'Really Sam, I'm just tired, that's all.' His voice was now firm, Sam's fear was recognised, that he wouldn't open up, not even a little bit, not even to her.

She decided that maybe Martin was too exhausted, after the shattering case, to want to openly discuss his problems and so she decided to give in. For now.

Instead she reached over the mile-high stacks and took a hold of his official FBI mug and let it hang from her hand. 'You want some coffee? You know how much it perks you uppp,' she said in a sing-song voice and she threw in a genuine smile. Martin gave an involuntary grin. She still had that effect on him. However he knew that he could be mistaking her concern for something else. Yet he hoped to God that there was more to it than her feeling sorry for him. He felt his head, and heart, shift loads and he smiled back. 'Yeah sure, as long as you make it.' 'Ok, you got it Fitzgerald but don't expect me to offer next time.' With that she hopped up off her spot on Martin's desk and walked at an even pace toward the break room. Martin watched her long, blonde hair gently sway as she moved forwards. He was truly captivated and a lot further gone than he had ever imagined.

Ten minutes had passed and Martin began to wonder where Sam was and what was taking her so long. He had actually started to look forward to the upcoming caffeine rush. It wasn't what he _really_ wanted, in truth it was a weak substitute, however he felt that it might help him 'perk up.' Like Sam said. He decided to go in search of her, he needed to stretch his legs too, three hours at a desk was no treat for his muscles.

He slowly wrenched himself up out of his chair. Seven months and he still feeling the effects of the shooting. He began to walk towards the break room. His heart pounded an erratic rhythm in his chest. His palms began to sweat and he couldn't think straight. He wondered how one woman could take the man from him and just leave the quivering wreak. He realised that he didn't need an explanation. She was Sam, that's all there was to it. 'Yes,' he thought to himself, 'she's just Sam, and I love her. Love her?…Yeah, I love her!' It all became clear. She was his Saviour, his lifeline, his angel. He wanted, needed, her back. Yet he knew that he didn't deserve her, he took out the anger he felt at loosing his grandfather on her. She didn't deserve that. He messed up. But he was going to try to make it right, he didn't know how, but he knew that his life depended on it. Martin Fitzgerald was a very determined man when he really wanted to be.

Martin rounded the corner and the sight that met his eyes brought a smile to his face and a warmth to his heart. Standing in the corner of the break-room stood a very irate Samantha. She seemed to be continuously pounding at buttons on the front of the coffee maker. It had decided to take a day off from being co-operative. Martin could see the look of frustration on her face and he could definitely hear it in her voice. "God damn coffee machine. Good for nothing piece of crap!' Her swearing only made Martin chuckle into himself. She was so damn cute when she was all riled up over something stupid. Martin decided that it was time to step in and take on the role of her 'knight in shining armour.' As he took a step forward he noticed a shadow at the other entrance to the break room. He stopped in his tracks. Jack. Martin was unaware of Jack's presence in the office as he and Sam talked. He was so wrapped up in her.

Martin watched. Watched, as Jack walked silently towards Sam. Watched, as he snaked his arms around her slender waist. And watched, as Sam turned around into his embrace and lay her head upon his broad shoulder. He froze completely. His heart, his soul, his breathing, they all froze. 'No, not now, not with him.' Martin's brain was imploded with thoughts. His mind began to buzz and blur. He couldn't make sense of it. Why had she gone back to him. Why?

Amongst the tumbling thoughts he could hear Sam reluctantly mutter, 'Jack as much as I want to stand here in your arms all night, Martin's still here, we can't risk it.' The look on her face showed her anguish at not being able to be held by the man she loved. Martin wasn't stupid, stunned, yes, but not stupid. He could see her love for him in her eyes, in the way she spoke to him and when Jack looked down at her, nodded and slowly and extremely reluctantly released Sam, he could see the same thoughts and feelings mirrored on his boss's face.

He felt a lump in his throat, his eyes stung and he could have sworn that he felt his heart shatter into a million pieces right there, outside the break-room door, in the middle of the FBI building. He turned on his heel and he walked. Straight down the corridor, past the bullpen, he didn't stop for his belongings. At that moment it didn't matter, nothing did, the only thing that he truly cared about was now beyond his reach. He slammed on the button on the elevator. Harder than necessary. As he stepped out of the building the cold air hit his face with an impact. He stopped. Still. The air wasn't moving and neither were his surroundings. It was as if they were waiting on his decision. He had decided. He hailed a taxi and suddenly it all began moving again. He knew where he was going.

He stepped out of the taxi. He still felt numb, he hadn't let himself think about what he had just witnessed. All he focused on was the sweet salvation that was awaiting him behind the doors of his destination. He stepped into the smoky atmosphere and found himself a seat at the bar. It was quiet apart from the old man sitting in the corner, singing the blues while tinkling on an old and worn piano. The barman made his way to Martin. Martin could feel himself growing impatient already. 'What can I get you?' 'Scotch, on the rocks.' His tone was one of utter defeat. He hadn't drank alcohol or touched a drug for months. All that was about to go down the drain. He didn't care though, he didn't care how little self control he had. He felt empty and the only way he could fill it was with her, if he could have her, this would have to be the alternative.

Two hours and 7 strong drinks later, Martin barely balanced upright on his stool. The barman was very reluctant to serve Martin any more drinks. He knew that Martin wouldn't go on his request. Instead he told Martin that the bar was closing. He saw Martin's face contort in anger, he reeled, but Martin didn't make an advance. He simply heaved himself out of his chair and walked disdainfully toward the doors of the establishment.

Somehow Martin made it home. Somehow he managed to wake up that next morning. Somehow he had called Van Doren and explained that he needed a few days off as he was ill. Just thinking about the place made him feel sick to his stomach. He knew he couldn't look either of them in the face again. He knew that Sam would be wondering where he had gone last night. She would probably mention it to the rest of the team. Danny would laugh it off and say that he probably had some 'hot date' that he had forgotten about. Vivian would be practical and perhaps say that he felt unwell and left. Jack wouldn't think much of it. But Sam he wasn't so sure about. He was dreading a visit to 'check in' on him. He had grown used to it during his period of 'rehabilitation.' She would call over on weekends and his days off just to 'chat' or to 'see a friendly face.' He knew the real reason for her visits however. His suspicions were confirmed when he had been 4 months sober. She had stopped visiting, assured that he was well on the way to recovery. 'Well Sam,' he thought bitterly, 'have a good look at me now.'

The rest of the day passed and Martin's only companions were a few tub of painkillers and a bottle of scotch. Martin picked up the tub and read the name aloud. 'Painkillers. My ass! If they kill pain then why the hell do I feel like I'm dieing inside!' His voiced raised with every word and he threw open the lid of the tub and hurled the remaining contents into his mouth. He then dropped the empty container on the ground next to another three. He didn't know how many he taken, he only knew that the pain wasn't gone yet, he needed more. Martin felt tears trickle down his face. He couldn't be strong anymore, she was his reason for pulling through the first time. Now he didn't have that, he didn't have a reason. He had taken her from him and he didn't have the strength to go on. His fight was finally over. He began to feel drowsy, his eyelids got heavy. He murmured a few words to his cold, empty apartment. 'It's working, I can't feel it anymore. Its finally wor-' His body slumped. He felt pain no more.

End


End file.
